


One More Spoon Of Cough Syrup

by plinys



Category: Hawkeye (Comics)
Genre: Gen, Sickfic, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 05:29:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2839766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plinys/pseuds/plinys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’ve got a cold, Katie-Kate.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	One More Spoon Of Cough Syrup

**Author's Note:**

  * For [milleniumrex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/milleniumrex/gifts).



“You’ve got a cold, Katie-Kate.”

“I’m fine,” Kate insists not for the first time today, though her next breath comes out a bit wheezy, “I mean, I’m probably dying of the plague, but they’ve got pills for that nowadays. Two of those giant green things and I’ll be cured in no time.”

“You don’t have the plague.”

“I totally might,” Kate objects, just because she can, not because she actually believe she has the plague, “I mean, how would you know? Have you ever had the plague before?”

Clint doesn’t answer the question.

She didn’t expect him to.

Instead, he just frowns down on her, the steaming pot of coffee in his hands casting this weird halo of smoke around his face, and if she wasn’t pretty sure that mixing Nyquil and coffee was a bad combination, she would have stolen the pot from him.

As it was though, reaching up to do that seemed like a bit more effort than it was worth.

Maybe she could convince him to just shimmy down here and give it to her.

“Now, I’m never one to be the _responsible adult_ -“

She snorts at that, because Clint Barton is the exact opposite of responsible adult.

In fact if you looked in the dictionary under the word ‘irresponsible adult’, there would be a picture of his face in the place of the actual definition.  

Probably multiple pictures of his face, just to get the message across.

“But,” he continues, ignoring her little noise,  “maybe if you’re this sick you should head home.”

“Ew, thanks, but no thanks, Hawkguy,” she grimaces, “I’d rather be in a ditch somewhere.”

Home – or well to be clear her dad’s house, is the very last place that Kate would ever want to be, especially when she was feeling under the weather. It was times like this where the only place it felt right to be was lying on Clint’s couch and sucking up his subpar Wi-Fi to play games on her cell phone.

(That or fighting crime – there was something about kicking some ass that always made Kate feel ten times better.)

Which, to be clear, had been exactly what Kate had been doing before Clint decided to try and be the responsible one for once in his life.

He was still frowning down at her, and it wasn’t a becoming look on him at all.

“Literally just hand me that box of pills,” Kate says, “I’ll pop a few of more those and then _bam_ -“

“Bam,” Clint echoes.

“I’ll be good to go fight crime, save the day, Avenger’s style,” she continues, “I’m sure you’ve got some baddies that we need to bust or-“

“Not happening,” he says, settling down on the other end of the couch, the coffee pot still in his hand, but suddenly also in Kate’s reach with minimal effort.

If her limbs didn’t feel like they were being weighed down she definitely would have made a grab for that pot and succeeded it stealing it from him.

“The box says two every four hours.”

“I’m fine,” she insists yet again, but he’s not looking at her this time, and she’s too tired to sign it to him, so she tries to make a move to sit up and grab the box for herself.

It’s a pretty big failure on her part.

Most certainly not one of Kate’s shining moments, and okay- maybe that’s a sign that she’s a little bit sick. Not enough to put her out of commission completely, but enough to prove that she definitely needs those pills sooner rather than later.

“Clint, please,” she says in a voice that is quite nearly a whine. It’s not one hundred percent one, because Kate likes to think that she’s too mature now to be whining, but it’s a near thing.

He gives her a little look, before whistling under his breath and patting the couch while saying, “here, Lucky, come on big boy, lay on Katie-Kate and make her nap.”

Their dog, who had been previously laying on the floor and was used to the antics of his sort of owners, just quirked an ear upward in their direction, before slowly ambling over and settling down on top of Kate.

Apparently in addition to being a hawk whisperer, Clint was a dog whisperer.

She was suddenly finding it very unfair that this trick hadn’t been in her handy-dandy ‘ _How To Hawkeye’_ manual.

“Using Lucky against me,” she says in a faux-betrayed tone, even adding in one of those fake gasps for extra messure, “how could you?”

“Get some rest, girlie, there will be plenty of time for adventuring tomorrow.”

The dog laying against her woofs as well, and she may not be Clint ‘dog whisperer’ Barton, but she was pretty sure that he was agreeing with him.

“Yeah, yeah,” she groans, unable to fight the medicine that was already taking hold, or the weight of an extremely heavy pizza dog that was smashing her in place – well, at least Lucky was warm, “I’m holding you to that. No excuses, tomorrow we’re fighting all the criminals that we let slip through the cracks today while you force me to sleep and you watch _Dog Cops_.”

“Who says I’m going to be watching _Dog Cops_?”

“You’re literally always watching that show.”

“That’s because it’s amazing, right Lucky?”

There’s a non-committal noise from their dog who is already settling down for his nap, and a few seconds later Kate finds herself joining him, even though she had intended not to.

\---

“What do you mean _you’re_ sick now?!”

“It’s your fault, girlie,” Clint says, “after all, who was the one that came over here with a cold and decided to lay on my couch and get her germs everywhere?”

“If you had just let me take the extra Nyquil this wouldn’t have happened.”

“That’s not how being sick works,” Clint insists, “now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go die of the plague or whatever it was you had.”

“I thought you said it wasn’t the plague,” she parrots his words from the day before back at him.

“Yeah, well have you ever had the plague?”


End file.
